


Make Sure You Kiss Your Knuckles Before You Punch Me in the Face

by wearenotsaints



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Bryce doesn't care about Justin, He only uses people, I haven't written anything like this in years and idk how I feel about it, Justin is forced to give Bryce whatever he wants, Justin is so lonely and broken, M/M, TW: Violence, not fluffy or light, tw: rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 17:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearenotsaints/pseuds/wearenotsaints
Summary: This is for the snakes and the people they bite. For the friends I’ve made, for the sleepless nights. For the warning signs I’ve completely ignored. There’s an amount to take, reasons to take more.Or, Justin is always going to owe Bryce for something.





	Make Sure You Kiss Your Knuckles Before You Punch Me in the Face

**Author's Note:**

> Title and Italics in summary from The Front Bottoms Twin Sized Mattress
> 
> +++
> 
> I haven't written anything around this topic in a while but I found some old work of mine and redid it to fit 13RW with Bryce/Justin. IDK honestly...if the topic is sensitive for you, please please do not read.

Justin let out a harsh breath as Bryce shoved him back against the rough brick wall behind them, crowding Justin with hands too big and teeth too sharp. It wasn’t a surprise to Justin when Bryce moved in to kiss him. 

“Fuck,” The slighter boy swore into the blonde’s mouth. Bryce tasted like chocolate and copper. The blood from the split lip Justin had given him minutes before. Sagging backwards, Justin let his hands curl in loose fists by his side. Bryce growled low and ground his hips once, twice, three times into Justin’s, nipping hard at his bottom lip. 

The dark alley between the science blocks and the main school building provided enough cover for the two teens. Bryce was big on keeping this a secret. On keeping secrets in general. Justin just figured he owed him. For the roof over his head and the food in his belly; for the kindnesses Bryce dolled out, always with expectations attached. Justin was constantly reminding the other boy that “This can’t go on forever. Someone will catch on eventually” to which Bryce usually just shrugged and ignored Justin for the next few days, got pathetically drunk at the weekend’s party and fucked the most willing girl he could find. It was never hard for Bryce. 

But here’s the most fucked up thing; Bryce always comes back to Justin. Always presses up against him in some dark little corner, apologies on his lips along with a hint of weed or alcohol, fingers firmly gripping the back of Justin’s neck until he says he forgives Bryce and that earns him a golden smile; one that usually sets off the chorus of warning voices in the back of Justin’s head. Justin wonders sometimes whether or not he’s strong enough to end this. Whatever _this_ is. He thinks that part of him hates Bryce; every blinding smile or casual arm thrown across Justin’s shoulders, a jovial ‘ _how’s it goin’ brother?_ ’ falling from his lips. But then the small, twisted part, the part Justin tends to push down deep and away from his mind, suggests that he loves him. In the fucked up, lonely way Justin has only ever known how to love anything.

Bryce’s hands are at Justin’s belt buckle now. Fingers dipping into the waistband of his jeans; _hothotheat_ and the smaller boy squeezes his eyes shut because tears are threatening to escape and he will not let Bryce see him cry. Not again, and how can Bryce continuously treat him this way? It isn’t fair, it isn’t right and it’s ridiculously far from being love. Justin doesn’t even think he could call it friendship anymore. 

“Bryce,” Justin whimpers, the words coming out choked and pathetic; small like he feels in this instant, “Stop,” he pleads. But Bryce merely mouths his way down Justin’s jaw and over his neck to the juncture of his shoulder where he bites down. Hard. 

“Please,” Justin’s voice a whisper as Bryce’s fingers close around him because he’s hard despite the pain; despite the hollow ache in his chest. Deftly, Bryce works his hand up and down Justin’s length. 

_Fastfatstugsqueezefastfasttugtugsqueeze_.

Bryce winds him up so easily. Knows every inch of Justin’s body, every shiver and whine.

“Please,” Justin mouths, hot tears sliding down over his cheeks and he lets his head tip back against the brick. There’s a tightness in his stomach and he knows he’ll come soon. Searing and slick against the rough material of the 7 jeans he could never afford on his own. Bryce growls low in his throat, bites at Justin’s bare shoulder—where he’s tugged the neck of the white cotton shirt loose—and breathes heavy in his ear, 

 

“Fuckin come for me, Justin. I know you want to,” and that’s all it takes. Justin lets go. White sparks pop behind his eyelids and his body goes limp. A dark stain down the denim of his right leg and Bryce’s breathy laugh sounds morbid when it echoes in his head. 

“Good boy,” Bryce mutters, wiping his hand on the side of his own jeans. Justin remembers when Bryce used to lick the cum from his fingers. Remembers when Bryce wanted to taste him. When Bryce wanted him. All of him, not just a quick fuck when there’s no one else so readily available. 

Justin’s too numb to fight when Bryce turns him towards the wall. Too washed out from his climax to paw Bryce’s fingers away from his zipper. He simply rests his cheek against the cold brick and clenches his fists above his head on the wall. Bryce takes him dry and Justin now knows better than to cry out. This has happened too many times for Bryce to actually think he might possibly be hurting Justin. That Justin might actually not want to be fucked in the alley by the science portables. He closes his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek until its raw and bleeding and the tang of metal fills his mouth. 

Bryce’s hands burn where they hold onto his hips. _Inoutinoutinout_ , a low snarl as Bryce pounds into him over and over _and over_. Each thrust grating Justin’s cheek a little harder into the wall. He can smell the blood but he can’t feel it dripping down to soak into the collar of his shirt. Justin will need to wash it before he can wear it again without the risk of anyone asking questions.

Bryce’s palm slides across Justin’s stomach and in a moment he’s hard again, Bryce angling himself just the right way and he’s hitting _that spot_ and for the second time that night, Justin could just shatter for how his body betrays him. 

“Knew you’d like it,” Bryce groans, his hand on Justin’s belly moving down to wrap thick fingers around him once more, “You’re just so _easy_ ,” Bryce continues, his words matched to the rhythm he’s built up. “An. Open. Book.” 

Justin sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to keep from screaming. He would hit Bryce again if he could but he’s hopeless now. His body completely devoted to Bryce. Filled, owned and used by Bryce. 

” _I hate you, I hate you I hate you,_ ” Justin wants to scream but instead he only whimpers as Bryce shoots his load deep within him. The slighter boy can feel the cum slip down his legs as the taller pulls out. Can feel it, hot like wax, as Bryce leans against him for a few seconds, heavy and hot, trapping Justin between his body and the wall. After some moments of nothing but listening to their breathing even out, Bryce kisses the back of Justin’s neck and tenderly tugs his jeans back up around Justin’s now bruised hips. He zips them closed and snaps the button before moving in one fluid motion to do up the belt and smooth out the front of Justin’s shirt. A gesture that Justin supposes he’s to take as caring. With one hand, Bryce tucks himself back into his pants and does them up before spinning Justin around to face him. Justin keeps his eyes closed; his body beyond weary and well worn. 

“You’re bleeding,” Bryce mumbles, fingers moving to turn Justin’s chin so he can look at the damage in the light, “Christ, man. You should let me know when I’m hurting you.” 

Justin bites back a laugh, feels worn out and insane with the irony of it, “I do. You’ve just stopped listening.”

**Author's Note:**

> comment or kudos makes for a happy writer.
> 
> you can find me at tumblr.com/juliangohome


End file.
